


When It's Done

by alp



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Endor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Leia/Han is hinted at, Porn with Feelings, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alp/pseuds/alp
Summary: Jyn and Cassian reunite after the Battle of Endor.





	When It's Done

**Author's Note:**

> This had been in my head for a while, but I was finally motivated to write it by [this piece of art](http://anafigreen.tumblr.com/post/164339032341/continue-with-requests-i-guess-you-were-waiting). So...yeah.

It started as a speck of light, nagging at her peripheral vision. She didn’t pay it any mind, at first. She was picking her way through undergrowth, the rest of her squad a few paces behind, boots crunching, swinging wide of Han Solo and Leia Organa. They’d taken out a few Stormtroopers a moment before, remnants of a shattered platoon, and had clambered over the smoking hulk of a downed AT-ST. She thought there’d be more of a gap, even with the shield generator destroyed. She thought it would take them longer. She’d steeled herself for it. She’d steeled herself for a lot of things.

The speck grew. The footsteps behind her stopped. She turned her head, and then lifted it, slowly. There’d been a foreign body, white and tattered and foreboding, up above, in that spot, not so long ago. 

Her commlink buzzed. Cries and ululations rose up, all around, a few at first, and then enough to drown. They’d done it. The thing was exploding, and that portion of sky was exploding with it, running orange and white. Hot trails were expanding outward from a central, oblong disc. Her squadmates were embracing. One of them jogged over to her. 

“Jyn!” She clapped her on the back. “It’s _done_ , Jyn. It’s done.” 

Jyn grabbed the woman’s elbow and squeezed. She smiled, but there was an emptiness behind it, a feeling like something was missing. 

The Battle of Yavin, even more so than Scarif, had been a turning point for her. There was a line spanning the outcome of that day and zipping backwards, connecting her own resolve and action to it. She’d done something, big and real and important; she’d been a central part of an event that had mattered. And she’d been carried through all of it on the twin backs of connection and faith. After so many years of believing that she couldn’t rely on anyone; that they’d always turn their backs on her; that there was nothing meaningful she could do but survive, it was a powerful thing, to take her father’s words and legacy and watch them transform into justice, with one of the only people she’d trusted in years by her side. There’d been no choice, after that, or at least no argument. The Alliance was home. Where else would she go? 

When the rumors of a second Death Star had started up, her stomach hadn’t seemed to stop sinking. Bygone notions of worthlessness had crept up into her. Did it matter, if things repeated? All that they had accomplished, overwritten, erased. She gazed up at the starburst, now, and doubted. It was different this time. The Emperor was up there, or so it had been said. But... They’d taken out a Death Star before, and their enemies had gone and built another. 

Well. One thing at a time. 

There was a village not far from the Imperial installation, where Solo and Organa and Skywalker had first made contact. She didn’t know much about what had gone on there, before she and the other Pathfinders had joined them, but it had yielded local support. They made their way there. On the way, they received the following morning’s orders from Han. 

She was anxious. When they arrived, she found a log on the perimeter, sat on it, and looked up at the sky. She did this every time. She fretted. She wondered if he fretted, too. She liked to think that he did. 

Behind her, there was music. 

Han came up on her. He was carrying two wooden mugs of something. He knocked her upper arm with one of them. 

“Not sure if you noticed, but we’re celebrating.” 

She side-eyed him. “I did.” 

He sighed. “You realize we won, right?” 

“I do.” 

There was a long pause. His lips drew upward, his shoulders lowered, and his voice softened. “Got word the other divisions’ll be down here soon.” He thrust the mug out in front of her. “I’m, uh, sure he’ll be with them.” 

The breath she took was slow and deliberate. She wrapped her hand around the mug and yanked it from him. “Thanks.” 

He nodded. “Sure.” Began to back away. “Don’t go telling people I’m being nice to you.” 

“Course not.” 

He left. 

The drink was thick and sappy - had to be local - and the first sip made her throat burn. She put it aside. She didn’t want to be sober, per se, but she didn’t want to be drunk, either. The suns were setting. The sky was going pink, and the upper half of the moon’s planet was just visible, a light grey silhouette. She watched it rise as the world around her tilted toward darkness, and as the air began to fill with the sounds of night. 

At some point, the sounds changed. She stood up. There were flashes of light, ships entering atmo and burning at the edges. Her chest tightened. 

She thought of Home One. She thought of the briefing for this mission. Cassian walking into the room, after she’d already sat down. Catching his eye at a distance. Acknowledgement, slight: a twitch of the lips, an incline of the head. The moments afterwards, in a hangar. 

They’d never really had the luxury of time. They’d had stretches, and sometimes those stretches had lasted for weeks, and they’d seized upon them. But they’d also gone months without. Since the fall of Echo Base, they’d been scraping at moments and chances, and since the Death Star had come into the picture, they’d run out of them. It wasn’t unusual, but it was starting to get to her. She thought it might be getting to him, to. 

He’d squeezed her hand. His eyes had been dark. “I’ll find you when it’s done.” 

She’d wanted so badly to kiss him. 

She moved fast to where they were touching down. Grass and shrubbery bent over. Gusts of warm air rushed outwards. Soldiers embarked. There were a lot of them. They were whooping and grinning. Her eyes darted. Her chest heaved. He had to be there. He always showed up, always, even when it didn’t make sense, even when the odds were long. Might take him a while, but eventually, eventually. 

It was growing ever darker. Lights were popping up, torches, flickering. She wondered if she’d missed him, if he’d done the same, if he’d wandered off already, looking for her. 

And then, there he was. 

He was walking unhurriedly, at the back of the group. His head was turning, searching, gaze sweeping back and forth. The sight of him made her heart ache. When he found her, he went still, and so did she. A very loud part of her wanted to run to him. She didn’t; she moved slow, on heavy legs, heat spreading outward from her center. He matched her pace. His gait had a laconic quality to it that she found herself admiring, for reasons she couldn’t place. Might have been the fact that it was him. Might have been the fact that, in that moment, everything about him seemed beautiful. 

They stopped less than a pace from each other. She could feel his body heat. His eyes were deep and warm and very, very brown. She felt a pang of need. 

“You’re all right,” she said. He wouldn’t have been in the line of fire; not directly, anyway. Certainly not in the way that she had been. But recon came with its own risks. 

He nodded. His gaze roved over her. “And so are you.” 

Silence. She was distantly aware that there were others around them, walking by or clustering together, some having their own reunions. Off to her left, the music was growing louder. Cassian smiled, the lines around his eyes bunching together, crinkling. She smiled back. Laughter was bubbling up in her. The uncertainty of earlier, the empty feeling, was melting away, as if she had at last been given permission to appreciate what had just happened, and to be happy about it. 

When had she become like this, like the sort of person to get so wrapped up in another? A very, very long time ago, now. She could trace it back, she thought, to another moment, at the top of a tower, when he'd looked as beautiful as he did now. 

He stepped closer. “Come here,” he said, and embraced her. Crushed her to him. He kissed the side of her head, the side of her face. She turned, and kissed his mouth, and he moved his arms down, lifted her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He laughed against her lips. 

“Jyn.” He looked up at her. “This is it. Everything changes, now.” 

She toyed with the hair at the back of his neck. “There’s still a lot of work to do.” Happy or no, she wasn’t about to glance away from that. They’d be on clean-up for years, she wagered. It was starting at daybreak. 

“I know, but…” He swallowed. “I’ve been doing this for so long. I think I had started to believe we would never get to this point.” 

She could understand that. She could understand that very well. 

She kissed him again, cradling his face in her hands. She thought of the mug she’d left, where she’d been sitting, and of the celebration underway. 

“Let’s go have a drink,” she said. 

He regarded her for a moment. His thumb was under her poncho, and rubbing the base of her spine, through her shirt. “We should probably make an appearance, shouldn’t we?” 

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “Probably.” 

They walked together, toward the village. 

They had a single drink each, and nursed them as they split up, and made their way through their fellows. Jyn watched the members of her squad dance, declining to join them when asked, even when they tried, bodily, to tug her along. She laughed at them, made some quip, and they were satisfied, if disappointed. The alcohol spread through her. Slow, not too much; enough for her to feel a little lighter. She discarded the mug before it was empty. 

Thoughts came. The sort that always did. She found herself wondering if anyone was guarding the edge of the village. She found herself imagining Imperials sneaking in, getting the jump on all of them. She forced those images away. 

Someone approached her. 

Leia Organa was dressed the same way she had been the night before: impractically. Her hair was down. It was longer than Jyn had thought it was. 

“I think this might be the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.” 

Jyn shrugged. “It was a good day.” 

“It was.” 

There was a moment of silence. There were times when Leia drove her mad, but on balance, she liked her. She liked how forceful and shrewd she could be. She admired her sheer presence. 

“Look,” Leia said. “I know it hasn’t always been easy for you, but you’re good at what you do, and you’ve done a lot for us. I don’t want you to think it’s gone unnoticed.” 

She might have, a few years back. She didn’t, now. “Thank you.” There was something about the tilt of Leia’s head. Jyn shifted, smiled. “What’s the catch?” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Cassian, across the way, looking at her, thumbs hooked under his belt. She looked back. His expression was smoldering. Leia followed her gaze. Smiled, clasped her upper arm, then released it. 

“It can wait,” she said. “Enjoy your night.” 

Jyn watched her go. A part of her wanted to call her back and grill her on what she'd been going to say. All other parts of her were wholly fixed on Cassian. 

She moved forward. Dodged a circle of dancers. Cassian waited for her to come to him. 

“I’ve had enough of making appearances.” 

His fingers sought hers. She quirked her head in a direction. He followed. 

Such a long time. 

She’d ranked enough up, now, to garner a privilege or two, and Ewok hospitality had meant that there were a handful of rooms to go around. She’d landed one, halfway up a tree, at the end of wooden spiral. They hurried up it. He was so close behind her. His fingertips were ghosting over her, and her thoughts were racing, racing. 

She was on fire. 

They moved inside her room. She closed the door behind them, dropped her helmet beside it. It was a small space, built for much smaller beings. The woven mattress, Ewok-sized, had been propped on its end, against the wall. An Alliance-issued bedroll and set of blankets, tan and olive, lay in the center of the floor, taking up most of it. 

Opposite the door, set low into the wall, was an open window. There was no glass, no transparisteel; just a shutter, on the outside, resting against the trunk of the tree, a small knob at its center. The sounds of the celebration below wafted through it. Torchlight lapped at its edges. The glow limned Cassian’s frame, glinted off his jacket, caught in his hair. 

One of his hands was on his waist. He was looking at her -- not smiling, not really, but his expression was soft. She stepped toward him. He moved with her. 

Her stomach flip-flopped. Her heart hammered. She gripped his upper arms. He was looking, still, just looking, eyes locked onto hers, breathing. There was less than an inch of space between them. It was a space, nonetheless. 

She couldn’t believe it, sometimes, when he was there with her. That he was still there with her. It had been four years since they’d met, since he’d first started coming back to her, for no apparent reason other than that he wanted to, and he was still carrying right on doing it. There was a weight to that. It scared her, but it was also healing, and comforting, and as time went on, the latter sense was winning out more than the former. 

He reached up to her face. His thumb passed over her cheek, her ear. He slipped his fingers into her hair, under her bun. Massaged the base of her skull. His lips curved upward, just a bit. “How long?” 

She released a breath. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?” 

“No,” he admitted. “But it would be good to know.” 

“I have to head out at 0700.” 

He sniffed. “Your entire division’s going to be hungover.” 

“I think Han might like it that way.” 

That got a smile out of him. She gave him one in return. 

“Can we get off of this?” Her hands moved, tucking under his arms and his jacket and grasping his sides. “I’d rather not think about it.” She didn’t want to think about anything, really. For the moment, they could be all the things that were left over when they weren’t being soldiers. It wasn’t much, but they could get a decent amount of mileage out of it, if pressed. 

He nodded, slowly. His eyes roved over her face. “You’re right.” His hand moved from his own waist to hers, and he tugged her toward him, finally closing the gap. She shuddered at the contact. Too long. Far, far too long. He leaned down. “We're celebrating.” The words were spoken close enough to her lips that she could taste their form. His nose brushed against hers. She brushed back, then kissed him. Tension rushed out of her in a flash. Her joints and muscles went weak. She tightened her hold on him, and he pressed his palm into the small of her back. 

He pulled away. “I missed you,” he whispered, and captured one of her lips between his. A thrill ran through her. The fingers in her hair moved. He cradled the back of her head, breathed, the air washing over her face, kissed her again. Again. Again. Fabric bunched under her fists. She deepened the kiss, pushing into him. He pushed back. 

Her heart pounded. A peel of laughter, loud and long and filled with genuine mirth, came from somewhere outside. She ran a hand up Cassian’s chest, to his neck, fingers sliding behind his ear, thumb resting along his jaw. She broke the kiss, pulled his head down, and touched her forehead to his. 

It was stupidly hard to say. She was so comfortable with him, in so many ways, and she’d all but expressed it, anyway, when they’d first seen each other, but that old, lingering fear still clamped down on her throat. Four years, and still. “I missed you, too.” Choked and stilted, maybe, but there it was. 

He grinned, big and beautiful. Touched his lips to hers again, and then to her cheek, her ear, her neck. She slung her arm over his shoulders. The hand at his side skipped down to his hip, and to the curve of his rear. He moved against her, in a sinuous sort of way, and pulled at her poncho, and at the collar of her shirt, and then kissed the space where her neck met her shoulder. She craned her head. Her nose struck his neck. Her lips followed. 

The culmination of her yearning for him, the sense of relief in this, was intense. The unspoken worry that had characterized their conversation post-briefing would likely remain so, as it always did, but that didn’t change the fact that it existed. Her astonishment at his uncanny ability to stick around was built in no small part upon it, and it was assuaged, now, for the night, and he was in her arms, and she was caught in a current. She shook. She ached, and she shook. 

And goodness, she hadn’t even gotten him out of his clothes yet. 

He rolled backwards, and brought his mouth back to hers. He clutched her to him. She’d been yanked up to her toes, from the way they were, and when he squeezed her, she had to lean forward to keep from losing her balance. The hand at his waist grabbed at his shirt. His arms left her. She stumbled, when he began to take off his jacket, but maintained contact. 

He slipped the poncho over her head, the tips of his fingers dragging along her sides. She crossed her arms, yanked at her own shirt, her kyber crystal lifting up and then falling back down. Watched his slide up and over, collapse over one arm, dangle and fall to the floor. It had been long enough that seeing just this half of him was thrilling, enough to narrow her eyes, enough to make her pause. She touched his abdomen. Smooth skin, firm muscle, a thin line of hair. Found his belt. Found the button on his trousers. Kissed his collarbone, his chest. He kneaded her sides and her back and the nape of her neck, and shoved his thumbs under her breast band and then, when that was gone, under the waistband of her pants. 

There was a chorus, outside, rising above the already-present singing. Someone shouted for a toast. Someone else started to give one. 

The air wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. 

She embraced him. One of his arms was draped across her lower back. Their hips were locked together, and they were kissing rough. The sensation of his skin on hers was burning. So warm. So very, very warm. Need spiked in her. She bit his lip. He gasped. She stepped, and gave him half a shove, and he had to catch himself, but he laughed -- or, at least, he made a throaty sound that she’d learned to associate with his amusement. 

He touched her cheek, caught her bangs between his fingers, looked her in the eye, and then lowered himself to the bedroll. 

She smiled, closed her eyes. Opened them again. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He reached up and grabbed her hand. “Get down here.” 

Ridiculous and lovely. Desire shot through her. 

She crawled over him. Her fingers trailed down the center of his chest, out to his side, over his hip. Traced the bone inward. Knuckles, against his inner thigh, up and down. She sucked on his shoulder, on his neck; gripped him, sliding her hand up, palming the tip, sliding it back down and dragging fluid with it. He sighed and tilted his head back. She was on her knees, his leg between them, and he reached down. His thumb traced slow, insistent circles. His fore and middle fingers slipped inside of her. There was no air between her lungs. 

She considered drawing it out. She considered making her way down his body, kissing his torso lines, brushing his length with her nose, shaping her mouth around him and breathing but not touching, watching his pupils dilate and his chest heave, feeling his hands tangle in her hair, making his hips twitch toward nothing. Making him melt for her and then into her. His fingers moved inside of her, and she decided that she didn’t feel like taking the time, and that she was more in the mood for something else. They had hours, anyway. She could go the teasing route on round two. 

She swung her leg over his hips. He looked surprised, for a beat, and then his features took on that soft, almost-smile cant. His hands were firm on her waist. He rubbed the bottom of her rib cage. She felt her own wetness against her skin. She lowered herself. 

His lips parted in time with hers, and they both groaned. Another wave of tension, released, seeping out of her. Torchlight was flashing in his eyes. Half his face and torso were bathed in orange. Heightened contrast. The lines of his frame were exaggerated, the stubble along his jaw was darker, and his hair was falling back, arrayed like a halo. Emotion swelled in her chest. She leaned down and kissed him and circled her hips. 

His arms curled around her, slid up, down. Most of her hair had come loose, and hung over and around her face and his; he threaded his fingers through it and pushed it behind her ears, only for it to fall free again. He touched her stomach, her breasts, grazed her nipples with his fingers and then with his tongue and teeth. He pressed her to him, one arm around her lower back, the other resting along her spine, hand at the base of her neck, and bucked up into her. She buried her face in his shoulder. Kyber nipped at her. He smelled musky. He smelled wonderful. He was so, so warm. 

She was surprised by how quickly she came. He fisted his hand in her hair and whispered, “that’s it.” His breath tickled her ear and her neck. She bit him. 

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and placed his hand on her side, applying just enough pressure to give her the hint. She rolled over. He settled between her thighs and took a moment, hovering, looking down at her, breaths coming in gasps. She smirked. 

“This your first time?” 

He chuckled. Thrust into her, hard. 

And then waited. A breath, two, three. Thrust again. She arched up into him. Her ankles hooked around his knees, toes pressed into his calves, and he elected to wait, still, dragging things the way she’d imagined dragging them for him. She squirmed. She pushed up into him. He pulled away. 

“Would you just…” she growled. 

He leaned toward her ear. “What?” 

She writhed, and narrowed her eyes. She would get him back for this. She pushed up again. He sucked on her earlobe. 

They settled, after a time, into something that lay between rough and slow, angled so that she could grind her clit into his pubic bone, pleasure lancing through her and weighing down her limbs. Her skin was overheated. She clasped his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes, and he responded by shifting his hands, shoving one under her shoulder blade and threading the other through her hair. They were entwined. They were so close together. His brow was drawn outward, and he was looking at her in a way that made her feel like the center of everything. 

This kind of sex was still amazing to her. Still strange. It wasn’t the kind she’d had before she’d met him, and it wasn’t the kind they’d had at the start. It took the craving for closeness and magnified it. It made her want to shout what she felt for him. She knew exactly what it was. She’d had the name of it for years, now. 

But that old fear, that old fear. Instead, she grasped the back of his head, pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes. Grabbed at his waist with her other hand. Ground up. Her second climax built, pulsing heat, radiating outward and stealing her breaths, giving them back to her in the form of whimpers and moans, seizing her muscles. She shuddered, violently, and her head struck the floor. Her fingers curled. Her nails dug into him. He kissed her fiercely, and ceased being slow. 

He convulsed around her name. His voice rose and cracked. The sound made her smile. 

Outside, the tempo of the drumming had ticked up, and a new song had started. Conversation had grown louder. Laughter had become more frequent. 

Cassian slid out of and off of her. She tucked herself into his side, running her hand along him. He stroked her hair. Habitual trains of thought, running, much slower than they used to, but running nonetheless. How could they be here, like this? How could they have made it? How could he still be with her, and things going well, all around? She wasn’t sated, exactly, but she was relaxed, and, goodness forbid, fairly happy. So hard, so hard. 

She kissed his chest. He brought a finger under her chin, tipped it up, and swept his tongue through her mouth. She rested her head on his shoulder and made eye contact. Practicality was rearing up in her. 

“So, what are your orders?” 

He paused. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.” 

“That was before I fucked you.” 

He blinked at her. She blinked back. He sighed. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

* * *

Something was banging. 

Cassian’s skin was against hers. It was pleasant and familiar, and she wanted to sink into it, sleep some more, but something was banging. Loud cracks, rhythmic. Coupled with a voice, shouting her name. 

“Erso!” 

She opened her eyes and peered toward the door. 

“Erso!” Growing exasperated. She considered the voice and placed it: Han Solo. “Quit screwin’ around and put your pants back on! We’re moving out.” 

She furrowed her brow, glanced at the chrono on her wrist: 0705. _Shit._ She cast about for her clothes. Cassian stirred beside her. 

“You’re one to talk,” she called to Han. There was no doubt in her mind how he and Leia had capped off their evening. 

“Hey, I didn’t say it was _wrong._ ” 

A muffled sound that might have been a moan, might have been speech. Han’s voice quieted. “You don't think I know that?” Grew louder, directed at her once more. “Just get out here, would you? And you might wanna get your pants on, too, Andor. Camp’s breaking down.” 

She looked at Cassian. 

He levered himself up. “There are times I can’t stand that man.” 

“He’s not so bad,” she said, tugging on her boots. “I’ve known worse.” 

“That’s a low bar.” 

It was a good point. “He’s competent.” 

“Sometimes.” 

As was that. “Mostly.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

She tucked her hair back. She collected her helmet, and began to steel herself. They were tracking down an outpost. They were going to destroy it. They had to. There was an irregular square of sunlight at the foot of the door, cast by the window. She stepped into it. 

Cassian grabbed her forearm. 

She turned back toward him. He was still mostly naked, and his hair was hanging over one of his eyes. It occurred to her that they were probably going to have a lot more time, now, even with the clean up, even with her doubts. 

She wondered what Leia had to say to her. 

“Wait.” He reached up, cupped her cheek, kissed her. “Good luck.” 

She almost said it. She almost said the words. Her heart pounded. 

She grinned, took his hand, squeezed it. 

She kissed his palm. Soon. She’d get up the nerve soon. “I’ll find you when it’s done.”


End file.
